She Walks In Beauty
by severina2884
Summary: Ashamed of her humble upbringing, Ginny embarks on a career as an adventuress that takes her into the homes of some of the wealthiest members of pureblood society.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: J.K Rowling's characters and mostly William Thackeray's plot, and my deft and skillful turn of phrase and creative use of language. (Well, you can't blame me for trying…) Seriously though, reviews are always appreciated. 

Prologue

_Ottery St. Catchpole, 1989_

Amid an eclectic array of magically enhanced Muggle objects, young Ginevra Weasley, just turned eight years old, danced merrily to the strains of Celestina Warbeck on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Tossing her waist length, tomato red hair over her shoulders, she whirled through her father's shed, tripping over tables and laughing gleefully as a Muggle stapler attached itself to the hem of her dress.

Little did the young girl know that her father was that very day, in that very shed conducting the most illegal of yard sales to help pay for her elder brothers' school expenses. Though Arthur Weasley did an honest day's work at the Ministry of Magic and had always managed to provide for his family the basic necessities of any Wizarding family, the strain of having five children at Hogwarts and two more due to start in a matter of a few years was taking a toll on the fragile balance of his financial status.

"Oh, Arthur," she had heard her mother whisper worriedly when she thought Ginny out of earshot, "the worst sort of Dark wizards will come to buy cursed Muggle artifacts. Surely we can't have Ron and Ginny exposed to that lot."

"I'll do what needs to be done, Molly," her father had replied with an authority he rarely used. "And the objects are not cursed, merely improved by magical means." With that, he had taken all of his favored projects, found Muggle items from the village below, and moved them into his shed.

Thus, Ginny danced across the room much to the delight of her father, who sat in his chair by the cashbox, all sense of dignity having long been forgotten, as wealthy wizards, mostly suspected former Death Eaters, poked and prodded at the unusual wares. Late in the afternoon, business hit a slump, and Ginny strove to distract her father from his troubles with a mock battle between a stuffed Hippogriff and a very real gnome.

Suddenly, however, an elegant coach bearing a family crest depicting two snakes intertwined with some ancient symbol alighted before the humble Weasley dwelling and out stepped the infamous Lucius Malfoy in all his icy imperiousness.

"Well, well, well," he sneered as he approached the tiny outbuilding, "Arthur Weasley. And one of your countless offspring. Funny isn't it, how the poor always manage to breed like doxies while the better half shows considerably more restraint. Gods above, Arthur, I wouldn't have thought your wife that desirable, but who am I to judge the ways of blood traitors?" he added distastefully.

Arthur, though he normally would have sunk his fist into the aristocrat's haughty face, realized that not only would his sons miss out on Malfoy Galleons for their schooling, but also that Lucius could have him fired more easily than he could summon a house-elf. And so he held his tongue, scarlet patches appearing on his cheeks and clashing with his thinning red hair.

Ginny stared incredulously at this expensively clad man who had the nerve to speak such scathing words to her father. _I wonder how he makes his carriage fly_, she wondered in awe_, he doesn't even have a winged horse_. His finely tailored black robes nearly reached the dirty floor where Ginny crouched, and he carried a highly polished walking stick with a silver serpent at the top. Blonde hair that rested between his shoulder blades was neatly queued back with a black ribbon, so different from her father's balding head and shabby wizard's hat.

"The biting tea set. Shall we say twenty Galleons?" Mr. Malfoy snapped succinctly.

"Twenty it is, Lucius," responded Arthur mildly as Lucius extracted a velvet money bag from beneath his robes.

"Wait!" Ginny stood abruptly, tearing the hem of her serviceable brown cotton shift. "Not the teapot. Not for twenty Galleons. We should have forty for it."

Lucius cast his gaze down to where Ginny stood defiantly, arms crossed and scowling. "Aren't we an impertinent little chit?" he said with the faintest touch of amusement. "Forty Galleons is quite a bit for a silly Muggle tea set, even if it does bite one's nose."

"I like this set. I don't want Daddy to sell it, but you can have it for forty."

Lucius' cold grey eyes swept over the girl's blazing amber ones. "Forty Galleons it is," he said quietly, shoving a handful of coins at Arthur. "I did promise my son a present after all."

Ginny followed him out of the shed on tiptoe, watching in fascination as he climbed back into his carriage and a house-elf's squeaking voice sounded from the interior. As the invisible horses took wing and disappeared into the sky, Ginny cast a critical eye over the ramshackle Weasley abode and her tired, worn, shabbily dressed father selling trifles to wealthy purebloods. _We're pureblood_, she thought in confusion, _so why must we be so shamefully poor?_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Just as a warning, I tend to overindulge in Regency romance and have thus appropriated the Wizarding World for my own purposes. Shameless plug Examples of this can be found in my stories at Pureblood. I also made Romilda Vane a year older.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1998_

Ginny smoothed back a silky strand of flame-colored hair as she and her dear friend Romilda Vane prepared to climb into the Thestral driven carriage that would take them away from Hogwarts. Just a few short hours before, the graduation ceremony had finally come to an end, and Miss Weasley was at last able to leave behind the dark, lonely corridors and take her place as governess at Zabini House.

The last two years at school had not been happy ones for the youngest Weasley, as none of her brothers attended any longer, nor did Hermione Granger or Harry Potter. Harry Potter… The familiar nettles of disappointment stung at her heart as she dwelt on the loss of her first love. The gallant hero of the Second War had seduced her one night after a Qudditch match and wasted no time abandoning her to search for the Horcruxes with her late brother and of course Miss Granger. He was married to her now, to the same woman who had jilted her brother and forced him to go on that final dangerous mission alone. Evil bitch, thought Ginny, who had stayed in school for the whole of the war. Though she had been active in opposing the Dark Lord at first, the humiliation of being ruined by Harry Potter had taken its toll. Gryffindor passion, allegiance to Dumbledore's memory, and the Order of the Phoenix had become alien to her, and she had spent her last years at school trying to escape her family's "blood traitor" status.

"Now ladies." Professor McGonagall stopped short in front of them, drawing herself up to an impressive height and straightening her spine so stiffly that she seemed to be in a Full Body Bind. "As you leave Hogwarts, it is prudent that you each reflect upon the education that we have given you here. I shall now bestow upon you this book, which contains stories of true Gryffindors and their heroism. It is my sincerest hope that these tales will inspire you, my dear," she continued fondly, smiling down at Romilda. "You show great promise as a witch." Handing her a thin volume bound in red leather and inlaid with gilt lettering, Minerva embraced her like a daughter.

When Romilda had climbed into the coach, the Head of Gryffindor turned to go. With a wily smile, Ginny called out:

"Oh, Professor McGonagall! Don't I get my _Tales of Gryffindor_?"

"Oh…Ginny," she said hesitantly. "Well, I suppose so." Drawing another book from the folds of her robe, the woman grudgingly handed it over. "I do hope you will remember your origins, Miss Weasley."

Grinning saucily, Ginny climbed into the carriage across from Romilda, who was already halfway through the first legend. The Thestrals began to beat their unseen wings, slowly lifting the vehicle from the ground and moving off toward the gate. Before they had gone too far from their former Head of House, however, Ginny pushed aside the velvet curtain covering the window and sent her book flying out the window to land at McGonagall's feet.

With a devilish laugh, she turned back to Romilda who regarded her with a mix of horror and admiration. "How glad am I to be away from that bloody place. All those idiots spouting pious speeches about the importance of mixing wizard blood. To hear them, one would think it was a shameful thing to be pureblood. Even my ragged family goes on at ridiculous length. Bill marries a girl who's half Veela, my youngest brother dies engaged to a Mudblood, for Merlin's sake. Gods above, if this continues, noble and ancient wizard blood will be nothing but a memory."

"Oh Ginny, you're so wicked," sighed Romilda. "It would break your mother's heart to hear you say such things."

"Well, as I've not seen her in a year, I don't think it much of a problem."

"Has it been a year?" Miss Vane asked in surprise. "By Hecate, how very sad."

"It's no matter," said Ginny brightly, "seeing as how I've got the job with the Zabinis and all. To think, I'll be a governess in a wealthy pureblood home, proper purebloods, not blood traitors. Surely I shall catch the eye of some dashing society wizard."

Romilda giggled. "Oh, undoubtedly. You were always so popular with the boys until…" She trailed off, embarrassed. "At any rate, I'm certain you shall find a man as lovely as my Seamus."

"I certainly hope so. There are scores of men far richer than Harry bloody Potter, and most of them aren't half-bloods. Gods, if Charlie should marry that Muggle girl he's been courting…And the twins, well, Merlin knows they're a bit 'festive'…I may be the only one in our family to carry on the pureblood lines."

Romilda merely stared out the window, weary of all Ginny's conservative talk. Though the war was well over, and Voldemort had lain in his grave for nearly a year, the Wizarding World was no closer to solving their dispute over blood purity. Toward the end of the war, after Rufus Scrimgeour had gotten himself killed in a battle with none other than Lucius Malfoy, the Death Eaters had seized the Ministry and had once again become the ruling class. In effect, the Dark Lord had accomplished all his aims, save his own immortality. Malfoy was Minister of Magic, his faithful minions headed the departments, and her father had kept his job only because he was unpolluted in blood.

Azkaban, once again guarded by the Dementors, held a number of war criminals: Remus Lupin, Mundungus Fletcher, Alastor Moody, and Nymphadora Tonks among them. Some members of the Order had been spared, Potter for example, for the Death Eaters were secretly glad of the Dark Lord's demise. No longer had they a cruel master who would torture them into submission, nay rather they occupied the whole of the Wizengamot. Muggle-borns were forced into menial jobs, and half-bloods, along with blood traitors, fared little better. Arthur Weasley had been exceedingly lucky indeed in keeping his job at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office.

"Dear Ginny," said Romilda at last, "you must make every effort to write to me often. I shall miss you so."

"Of course!" exclaimed Miss Weasley. "You've been my only friend at Hogwarts these two years with so many of us gone after the war. And naturally I shall be at your wedding to Seamus."

"You are coming along to my parents' for dinner this eve, are you not?"

"Certainly! I've instructed the driver to take us straight there. I shan't stay long, however. I'm quite eager to begin at Zabini House. Do you know that Mrs. Zabini has been married seven times?"

"Seven! That's beyond scandalous! How do you know that?"

"Blaise was acquainted with Professor Slughorn in our fifth year for that very reason. Apparently she is quite beautiful, though a bit given to flights of fancy. Mr. Zabini, though, is quite religious I hear. The whole of his house is like a shrine to the gods. Their son, however, I do not think much of. I spoke with him at length on the train that year and loathed him at sight."

"Ah, yes, that was the time he called you a filthy little blood traitor," added Romilda gently.

"Was it?" Miss Ginny gave a humorless bark of laughter. "I was called a blood traitor so often that it all runs together. If I had a Knut for every time I've been sneered at by the Slytherin ilk, I should be a very rich woman indeed. But never mind about that now. In time I shall be plenty wealthy."

"So, Miss Weasley, your mother is a Prewett, is she not?"

"Yes, Madam Vane." Ginny gave a sanguine smile as she delicately lifted a forkful of capon to her mouth.

"Her brothers were members of the Order? Fabian and Gideon? 'Twas quite sad when they died fighting Dolohov and his company." Placing aside his copy of _The Daily Prophet_, Sallustius Vane finally spoke and took a sip of red currant rum.

"Indeed, sir," agreed Ginny, though the event had occurred many years before her birth. "But they did fight on the losing side after all. The well of pity cannot run too terribly deep."

Mr. Vane threw back his head with great mirth. "Upon my word, Romilda, you've brought home the cleverest of young ladies. By the cauldron of Paracelsus, Miss Weasley, you _are _a delightful creature!"

"Oh, Mr. Vane, you do flatter me," Ginny returned coyly with a marked lowering of her eyelashes. Though Miss Ginevra had resolved to be charming, she found it a waste of her time, on the whole, to be dining in the home of Gryffindors. However, the Vanes were quite rich, a result of trade in cauldrons, and therefore a rung upon the social ladder not to be ignored. Romilda was a dear companion, besides, and Ginny knew well that one must make sacrifices for one's friends.

"You have employment, I hear," said Attia Vane abruptly.

"Yes indeed. I shall be working as a governess at Zabini House. Mr. and Mrs. Zabini have two young daughters who have yet to begin at Hogwarts. I shall be teaching them in French, Charms, Latin, and perhaps a bit of Transfiguration."

"Ginny's a brilliant witch. Her Bat Bogey Hex got her into the Slug Club our fifth year!" praised Romilda enthusiastically.

Mrs. Vane seemed a bit shocked, but her husband said merely, "Ah, the Slug Club. Quite an exclusive group, that was."

"Quite." Ginny smirked, not thinking it prudent to mention that not even Draco Malfoy had been admitted. "Though I am rather relieved to put it all behind me. The war is over, and it's past time to move on."

After the Madeira was consumed, the ladies retired to the sitting room until Miss Ginny excused herself to her bedchamber. The following morning, she and Miss Vane parted ways until the latter's wedding day.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry this chapter was so long in coming. Finals week and Christmas shopping took up a sizeable chunk of my time. Also, response to "evil Ginny" was a little lukewarm, so I just have to say that things have to get worse before they get better for poor Ginny.

_Dearest Romilda,_

_What an odd place Zabini House is! I vow, I never expected such a strange company as this. Stregone Zabini, the patriarch, is quite as religious as we had thought. One cannot move but for the red candles and crystals cluttering the corridors. His wife Civetta is quite fanciful and in a rather frail condition. Blaise, for his part, is much changed, and I daresay much improved. Indeed, this is certainly so, for we had a turn about the garden on our own after dinner one eve. I shall write more on this later. I look forward to your owl at your earliest convenience. _

_Your devoted friend,_

_Ginevra Weasley_

With no small amount of trepidation, Ginny stood upon the threshold of Zabini House and hesitated with her hand on the knocker. In a moment, however, her Gryffindor courage took hold of her and she rapped sharply upon the weather-beaten mahogany door. Soon, a house-elf appeared in the doorway and squeaked:

"May Knobby helps you?"

"Yes," answered the girl imperiously, "I am Miss Ginevra Weasley. I've been hired as a governess for the children. Please inform the Zabinis straightaway that I have arrived. You may take my trunk now," she added.

With a snap of its fingers, the elf had magicked the trunk from the porch and into the house. Ginny cautiously slid her dusty traveling boots over the threshold and glanced around the dark foyer of Zabini House. Dozens of candles in red glass holders flickered eerily off the symbolic crystals beside them on floor-to-ceiling shelves: agate stood beside amethyst for healing, bloodstone stood out sharply against ubiquitous calcite, and moonstones studded the doorway, engraved with numbers sacred to Janus. _Oh my_, thought Miss Weasley apprehensively, _Mr. Zabini appears to have gone a bit mad. Well, no matter. They're quite a wealthy family in any case. But what a dank house this is!_

"Knobby shows you to your chamber now, Missy. Master has the supper in an hour." The house-elf spoke once more before motioning the governess to the stairs and leading her to a small but comfortable room, free of all religious objects save for a few small icons, in the house's west wing. Ginny gave a sharp glance of feminine inspection to the torn bed-hangings and water-stained upholstery and resignedly began to unpack her trunk.

"May all the gods bless this noble family and keep it in untainted wizard blood," Stregone Zabini intoned piously. "May blessed Ceres continue to keep our table rich in harvest."

"Praise be to the goddess of grain," responded the others piously, Ginny included, though she could not help but feel a bit ridiculous.

Feeling the cool pressure of Civetta and Amarina Zabinis' hands leave hers, Ginny finally opened her eyes and gazed down at the clear broth in the bowl before her. Unwillingly, she began to eat, finishing it well before the others and fully expecting a second course.

"So, Miss Weasley," drawled a voice cultivated with ennui that bespoke a life of the most indolent rakehood, "how do you find Zabini House thus far? I daresay it has pleased you?"

Rather surprised at having been addressed, Miss Ginny looked up from her water goblet and was at once quite disconcerted indeed for she found herself staring across the table into the wicked dark eyes of Blaise Zabini himself. "It has," she lied with easy grace. "My accommodations are most comfortable, thank you."

"Lovely," returned Blaise in a tone of subtle mockery. "Then I had no idea that you were such a religious woman, Miss Weasley."

"N-not as such," stammered she, rather flustered at his insinuations. "But I find it all quite, er, refreshing. Yes, all the tributes to the gods are very respectful."

"What charming sentiments, Miss Ginevra," interjected Civetta in her soft, faltering voice. "It seems to me that you shall be the best of governesses for the girls. Amarina, Lisavetta," she addressed her daughters. "Go up to the nursery with Miss Weasley. You must begin lessons straightaway. They can use our old wands," Civetta turned her attention to Ginny once more. "I know it's illegal, but Hogwarts is so much more competitive these days. I'd rather they knew the basics. All the other children will."

"Of course, Mrs. Zabini," murmured the girl deferentially, "I shall teach them a few simple charms if you wish. Come along, children."

The children rose, as did Blaise, and followed Ginny from the shadowy dining room toward their nursery.

"Ah, Miss Weasley, my parents may be gullible enough, but I am not so easily fooled."

When Ginny spun back toward the doorway, Blaise was leaning casually against it, his tall, lanky frame attired in a finely cut bottle green robe and an elegantly tied pearl grey cravat. "I'm sorry?" she returned coolly.

"Please, Miss Weasley, all the candles and crystals? This is no kind of place for a young adventuress such as yourself. I myself have a small bachelor's flat at Diagon Alley. Perhaps you ought to see it someday," he added in an offhand sort of manner.

Cheeks in high color from Master Zabini's scandalous words, Ginny could do nothing but glare at him, wand arm twitching slightly as she imagined him taken by her Bat Bogey Hex.

"I do so love Gryffindor ladies. That rash passion is often quite an asset."

"Oh clear off, Blaise!" Ginny's temper finally got the best of her.

"Now, now," muttered the young Zabini as he sidled up to Ginny, "is that anyway to speak to the son of one's employer?"

"I do apologize," she spat, "but I truly don't see why you feel it necessary to provoke me so!"

"I only do it because I care." Blaise trailed his large, warm hands up Ginny's back and over her shoulders, enfolding her from behind.

"That makes very little sense, Mr. Zabini."

"Well, no matter. I shall give you a chance to make it all up to me," his arrogant mouth whispered against her ear. As his lips trailed down her neck, he continued, "Meet me in the gardens after dinner next eve. Perhaps I might show you the grounds?"

Hesitantly, Ginny agreed, feeling it best to comply with the wishes of her employer's son.

"Good. See you then." Blaise let her go so abruptly that she felt as though Nearly Headless Nick had floated straight through her, so cold was the sensation.

Ginny glared at his retreating form and turned toward the nursery in a huff.

"Ah, the lovely Miss Weasley. Right on time." Blaise had seated himself beneath a gnarled old apple tree near the French doors that led from the ballroom. He stood with some effort, snapping the gold cover of his pocket watch closed. "I had rather hoped my performance in the corridor last afternoon would not deter you."

Ginny stared at him incredulously, wondering if Blaise Zabini was truly apologizing for something. "No, I assure you I am not that delicate. I had six brothers growing up."

"Had?" Blaise offered her his arm, covered in the velvet of his dinner-robes and they set off for the old hedge maze. "Why the past tense, Miss Weasley?"

"I have not been home in a very long while," she admitted. "I grew weary of the poverty and the taunts over their blood treason. My eldest brother married a girl from Beauxbatons. I read in the _Daily Prophet_ that they had a daughter. Charlie is courting a Muggle from the village…"

"Ottery St. Catchpole?" Blaise queried.

"Oh… why yes. You impress me, Mr. Zabini. I do not recall mentioning that."

"You didn't," said he, "but carry on."

"Percy got a job with the Ministry and moved out. I've not seen him in ages, but I don't believe he has been home recently either. The twins run a joke shop at Diagon Alley…"

"Bloody eyesore, that," grumbled Blaise under his breath.

"And…and my brother Ron is dead." Though she made great effort in suppressing it, Ginny's voice still wavered with emotion.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Master Zabini offered automatically. "What happened to him?"

"He died in the war," she sighed heavily. "The Death Eaters killed him while Harry and Hermione destroyed the Horcrux in Hufflepuff's cup."

"I see." Blaise paused. "I see. But why then do you wish to yoke yourself to the very society that killed him?"

"Perhaps if we had not joined with Dumbledore and his motley band, my brother would still be alive."

"Perhaps so, but I simply cannot imagine Prewett descendants joining forces with pureblood society," countered the youth.

"With the Dark Lord, do you mean?" Ginny was careful not to refer to the late wizard as 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.'

Blaise gave a half-chuckle. "Well yes, I suppose. Although I rather think that Death Eaters and Muggle-lovers alike are glad to see him gone. He served our cause well, but there are not many Death Eaters who enjoyed his torture and of course his sadism in general." He paused, recalling the countless times he had seen Voldemort inflict the Cruciatus Curse upon his own followers. "But please accept my condolences for your brother. The Second War only strengthened my belief in the absurdity of such conflicts."

Feeling her eyes sting at the mention of Ron, Ginny cried abruptly, "Oh, let us change the subject! Please, Master Zabini, I've had enough depressing talk for one evening."

He took her gloved hand in his and pulled her behind a large stone monument. "Miss Weasley, I would prefer you to call me Blaise."

Ginny stared at him in utter shock. "You do know that I was ruined by the half-blood Harry Potter himself?" she blurted before seemly restraint took hold of her.

"I heard rumors to that effect my sixth year, but please, do not worry over it on my account. I would expect better from a Slytherin girl, but I always make allowances for Gryffindors. It is a house ruled solely by emotion, I should think. Even the colors, those warm and tawdry hues, speak of ardor and illogic."

"I suppose," murmured Miss Ginevra, though irritation nettled at her breast.

"Oh, do not be insulted!" exclaimed the young wizard in consternation. "I do not mean to speak ill of you, but rather that I understand your indiscretions with Potter. I trust you harbor no tender feelings for him now?"

Coffee eyes averted, she answered: "No, only disappointment and a touch of shame. And anger, naturally. He married poor Ron's fiancée."

"Not Hermione Granger?" inquired Blaise in surprise. "I had always thought the two of you were great friends."

"She was… and I miss her. But she is Muggle-born…" Ginny could not bring herself to call Hermione 'Mudblood.' "…and her husband is a half-blood. I could not associate with that sort now."

Blaise regarded her with a sad sort of amusement. "No, I suppose not."

Miss Ginny grinned wryly at him. "Really, Blaise, you are a depressing sort, are you not? In the space of a half-hour, we've discussed the war and my old friends. Is this what you dragged me out to the gardens for?"

Giving her a rakish grin, he replied, "Certainly not, Miss Weasley," and bent his head slowly and pressed his lips to hers with aching gentleness at first, and, when she deepened the kiss, tangled his fingers in her silky auburn hair.

Ginny was fully aware of his well-muscled form, smelling faintly of vanilla smoke and French cologne, overpowering her small, wiry body. "Oh gods, Blaise," she sighed as his lips found the curve of her shoulder. "But wait!" she pushed him away from her. "You must know that however rashly I acted with Harry, I have no intention of indulging in any more brief flirtations. I've had quite enough of scandal."

"Of course," he answered roughly, seizing her by the arms and crushing his mouth to hers again.

When they finally broke apart, he offered the girl his arm and led her back toward Zabini House.

Just before they parted Ginny called out, "Well, Blaise, I suppose I should give you leave to call me Ginny."


	4. Chapter 4

When the Zabinis and Ginny had gathered around the table for their morning gruel, and Stregone had chanted his usual quarter-hour long accolades to Ceres, the patriarch cleared his throat uncomfortably and began his announcement:

"It seems that next week, Civetta's sister intends to visit Zabini House for several days. _Miss Lucinda Peverell_," he added in a hushed voice of awe for Ginny's benefit. "I trust you will all welcome her properly."

Ginny's eyes were set aglow. _A Peverell_, thought she with the greatest of delight. Even a girl of Ginny's background was well aware of the Peverell family, a tribe of wizards older in bloodline and wealthier than even the Malfoys. Alas, they had been a family of fillies, so to speak, and Miss Lucinda, a spinster fifteen years Civetta's senior, was its sole heiress.

"Indeed, Father?" queried Blaise—for he was in the habit of joining his family at mealtime—with a lazy indifference that belied the speculative gleam in his eye.

"Indeed," responded Stregone, "though I cannot imagine what she wants here."

Miss Ginevra soon learned that Miss Peverell meant to leave the whole of her fortune to her nephew, having no sons of her own. What a boon this would be, for, though the Zabinis were by no means as destitute as the Weasleys, Civetta and Stregone's fortune had become somewhat depleted following the war. Without his aunt's Galleons, Blaise would have no choice but to wed an heiress.

Much later that day, Ginny toiled in vain to teach Lisavetta and Amarina the simple Levitation Charm. "Now watch closely," she said for the thousandth time. She swished her wand, gave it a flick, and said firmly, "_Wingardium Leviosa_!" The spellbook she had been aiming for floated slowly up into the air for several seconds until she returned it to the desk. "All right, girls, your turn. On three!" Ginny rapped upon the desk thrice, and the girls began to wave their own wands.

"_Regaridum Lemonade_!" cried Lisavetta, the younger girl, with fervor. The feather before her turned yellow and shriveled into a brittle clump of sticks.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" snarled ten-year-old Amarina. Her wand produced a few green sparks, but the feather simply remained the same.

"Amarina!" Ginny heard the male voice's shout from the hall and at once began to fear for her post. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're about?" Blaise burst into the room, wild-eyed with fury. Seizing the little girl by the upper arms, he continued at a roar, "Do you know what that curse does? _Do you know_?"

The child shook her head slowly, as pearl-sized tears began to trickle down her pale little cheeks.

"I thought not. Go to your bedchamber. I shall tell Cook not to make you any puddings for tonight." When the girl had departed, he turned to face Miss Weasley, whose mouth hung open in numb shock.

"W-we were doing _Wingardium Leviosa_. I don't know what…where…"

"It's all right," Blaise said easily. "It just pains me that a child should know those words that killed so many of my friends."

"Like Draco Malfoy?" asked Ginny softly. She knew that Blaise had seen Voldemort kill his fellow Slytherin after Malfoy had failed to eliminate Dumbledore. "So you are a pacifist, then?"

"I suppose I am," he assented. "Don't bother about me, Ginny. I've been punishing the girls since they could walk. Mother is too weak and vain to bother about them, and Father is just odd."

Nodding, she allowed, "Well, 'tis admirable. Not many brothers would do the same." Placing a hand on his arm, she added boldly, "I would meet you in the gardens again."

"Then we must. Tonight, perhaps?"

"Of course."

As Lisavetta had stolen away to comfort her sister, Blaise leaned down and brushed his lips against Ginny's. "Until then, Miss Weasley."

A sennight had passed since the encounter in the nursery, and, in that time, Ginny had found a way to make herself indispensable to the Zabini family. Under Miss Weasley's watchful eye, the candles, crystals, and years worth of dust had disappeared from the main hall. The chandeliers, neglected over decades, had risen once more, and lo, the furniture was once again polished to perfection. Miss Ginevra herself had drawn back the heavy drapes and drenched the chilly parlors with sunlight as Blaise, it might be noted, looked on with amusement and indeed a touch of admiration.

At last, the table was laid with the lemon-colored Zabini china and golden flatware, set exactingly upon crisp linen tablecloths and lace-trimmed napkins. Then, and only then, was Miss Ginny able to pronounce the house ready for Miss Peverell's arrival, and just in time, too, for no sooner had the last crystal goblet completed its triangle that Lucinda's carriage and Aethonans appeared, circling the house once and alighting on the drive.

The entire Zabini clan plus Miss Weasley assembled in the great foyer to greet their honored guest, a purportedly fussy older woman with a great dislike for all but her nephew and perhaps her sister. Therefore, Blaise was the one to open the door and give his wealthy auntie a perfunctory peck upon her withered cheek.

"Good afternoon, Aunt," he said meaningfully, giving her one of the lethal smiles that always sent Ginny's stomach into knots. "Aren't you looking well? I vow, travel must agree with you." He offered her his arm and escorted her over the threshold to where his small family had arranged themselves.

"Oh, Blaise Zabini, you could charm an Inferius out of the grave if your wand was snapped in two!" she scolded with mock-severity.

"Miss Peverell, on behalf of the Zabini family, I wish to welcome you and offer hope that the great Hermes blessed you on…"

"Spare me the voodoo theatrics, Stregone," snapped Lucinda, brushing a small speck of dust from her brown velvet traveling gown. "Please feed me before you continue sucking up." She marched toward the dining room, half-dragging her nephew along with her.

Ginny attempted to suppress a smile, but was not quite successful by the time she reached the dining room.

"Something funny, girl?" she barked at the auburn-haired governess.

"Certainly, Miss Peverell," answered Ginny with Gryffindor courage, "I find the phrase 'voodoo theatrics' quite appropriate." The latter half of her statement was said in a low whisper so that Stregone was not disturbed from his prayerful incantations.

"You'll sit by me," announced Lucinda with an air of decision. "Right here, across from Blaise. So tell me, girl, what is your name? You are the governess here, I trust?"

"I am," she replied. "I am Miss Ginevra Weasley. Ginny to my friends."

"Weasley," mused Miss Peverell aloud. "You're not one of Arthur Weasley and Molly Prewett's brood, are you? A Gryffindor, no doubt."

"I'm afraid so," answered Ginny gravely.

"An impoverished pureblood!" Lucinda exclaimed as though Miss Weasley were quite a novelty indeed. "And I'd taken you for a half-blood adventuress. But here you are, a blood traitor."

"Indeed," said Ginny with a twinkle in her eye, "though I do have a relation who works as an accountant. Squib or no, I think him far more traitorous than I."

Miss Peverell threw her grey head back and laughed. "I like you, Miss Weasley. I certainly do. Ah, what a disreputable background," she added with relish, licking her lips. "Perhaps my Blaise will make a disgracefully scandalous match. That's my fondest wish, that."

Across the table, Blaise lifted his dark eyebrows skeptically at Ginny. "I knew I ought to have come home with Luna Lovegood when I had the chance. Alas, she's now Luna Longbottom, and my window of opportunity is forever gone."

"Silly boy," chided the spinster. "You do know how to terrify an old woman. Lovegood indeed!"

Ginny grinned behind the rim of her water goblet. "Oh, Master Zabini, what an excellent match that would have been. I expect her father would have given the pair of you matching Spectrespecs."

"Miss Ginevra, you are too quick-witted to be wasted as a governess," chuckled Lucinda. "Perhaps you might consider…"

Whatever she had been about to say was lost when Stregone cleared his throat and said, "Miss Peverell, will you do us the honor of choosing our toast?"

"Better food and a better house," said the woman shortly.

"Why not toast Harry Potter?" suggested Ginny with a bitterness that no one, excepting Blaise, caught. "He did vanquish the Dark Lord."

"An excellent suggestion, Miss Weasley," spoke up Blaise. "To Harry Potter!"

"To Harry Potter!" chorused the others.

"And the Minister of Magic, Lucius Malfoy," she added on impulse.

"Lucius Malfoy!" Each drank deeply from his glass until they refilled themselves no more.

When the dishes had cleared themselves away, Civetta sent the girls up to the nursery without Ginny, who remained on Lucinda's command.

"Do you play and sing, Miss Weasley?" queried Lucinda sharply. "Or do the blood traitors not learn the gentler arts?"

Ginny blushed slightly, but as Miss Peverell's tone was merely curious, she responded politely, "Rest assured that we do, madam. I was instructed by my mother." She began a lilting tune, accompanied by Civetta.

Miss Lucinda's grey eyebrows shot to the ceiling, for she hadn't counted on a blood traitor's being quite so accomplished.

Blaise's ebon eyes combed over her face, taking in the beguiling grin she gave him just as she sang the final note. At that moment, Blaise Zabini, unquestioned Slytherin and former Death Eater, realized that he had fallen in love with the blood traitor Ginny Weasley. He smiled warmly at her when she had well and truly finished, but his aunt, it seemed, though normally quite astute, had noticed none of the byplay.

"Miss Ginevra," cried Miss Peverell in a declarative tone, "you must return to Wiltshire with me."

The others turned to stare at her, faces etched in shock and a hint of dismay. Even Stregone emerged from his semi-permanent trance long enough to exclaim,

"What in the name of the Dark Lord Voldemort could you want with a little blood traitor like her? And an adventuress to boot!" He exchanged a worried glance with Civetta, who was certainly unwilling to lose another governess.

Blaise, however, held up a lazy hand. "Now hear her out. I'm sure Aunt would be more than willing to find someone to replace her."

"Indeed." Lucinda fixed her eyes on Ginny. "So, Miss Weasley, what would you say? With a bit of work and the right connections, I'm certain we could hook you a pureblood with a decent enough fortune."

"Mr. and Mrs. Zabini have been very kind," hedged Ginny. "I would not want to put them out in any way. But if they are amenable to my leaving, I should certainly like to go."

"Leave them to me, girl," stated Miss Peverell as though Stregone and Civetta were not present.

"If you wish it so, Miss Peverell. With your permission, Mrs. Zabini, I shall retire to the nursery?" Civetta nodded idly, so Ginny slipped away quickly, breast full of the tawdry hopes of a true adventuress. She had no hope of finding some unnamed 'pureblood with a decent enough fortune,' for she had set her sights on Blaise, nay she had fallen in love with Blaise just as she had with the half-blood Harry Potter. _Blaise has the promise of his aunt's fortune, a family tree of naught but wizards, and a doting spinster aunt who wants him to make an imprudent match. This scheme is less than pathetically easy; how in Godric's name could it possibly fail?_


End file.
